Snowdust
by Stereotypical Asian
Summary: My shot at how Mello and Matt came face to face with Near for the first time. Oneshot. Rated M for Mello's mouth.


Snowdust

**Author's Note**: This was created a looong time ago. Like, last year-ish. But that's okay, 'cause now I'm finishing it. This was what I was thinking as how Matt and Mello met Near. Oneshot, so this is it.

Oh man, I need to keep studying my French. I'm so bad at it, I needed a freakin' translator. No offense for the French, as I am still learning your language. Nor to the native speakers that I have used words from. No offense. Please don't comment on the languages. Thank you.

I'm not very good with many languages, just English and Chinese.

Rated M for Mello. He has such a dirty mouth…

**Title**: Snowdust

**Author**: Stereotypical Asian FanFiction

**Created**: October 30, 2007

**Typed**: November 4, 2007

**Edited**: June 19, 2008 and July 23, 2008

* * *

It was snowing at the Wammy House.

It was not the simple sight snowstorm that usually hit in the early winter. Not at all the smooth yet mild wind that came and went or the frequent rainstorms that came with warning or even the light winter snow that came in random bursts. Not at all like that.

Instead, a large and hazardous blizzard that howled and blew the few remaining leaves off the trees and covered the world in white. The winds gusted and clawed at the windows and flew through the hidden cracks of the orphanage.

The large red orphanage was covered in the icy whiteness that fell from the sky. There was smoke coming out of the chimney. It swirled quickly, as if in a daze from the high winds. The snow was piled and packed on everything the left outside in the children's hasty run inside. Not a soul was out there.

So they thought.

Two heads of straw blond and rich auburn were out trudging in the snow. The young boys were freckled white with the snow still rapidly falling. The blond's clothing of black was peaking out of the snowy patches. His arms were flailing as he was yelling at the other boy.

"God Matt, stop bein' a fuckin' wuss!"

"Why the hell are we out here!?" The other boy, identified as Matt asked as he wrapped himself in his arms a little tighter. His faded torn blue jeans were soaked up to the knee from the fresh snow. There was a pair of orange tinted goggles over his eyes. "Why Mello, why!?"

"Toughen up! I've seen worse snowstorms. The snow here is just a little snowdust compared to the gargantuan snowflakes in Russia," Mello shook off the snow from his head and shoved his hands in his dark jeans. He turned around, still walking, and glared at Matt. "Look, if you're gonna be a fuckin' pans-"

While Mello was shouting at the Matt, he tripped over something and lost his balance. He proceeded to fall on his ass and was covered in snow. "God-fucking-damn! What the fucking hell did I trip over? A log? Oi! Help me up you shitface!"

Matt was laughing hysterically, moving his hands from his sides to his stomach. His eyes were crinkled up behind his goggles and he was having trouble breathing. Matt was gasping for air, as he was laughing too hard.

"Oh my God, that was too funny!" Matt said in one rushed breath. His knees were threatening to buckle from the lack of oxygen going into his blood. "I think I'm gonna die!" His knees finally buckled and Matt's hands flew out towards the snow-encrusted ground to save his fall.

Mello, still sprawled out, was cursing the storm with every word he knew, and in every language he knew. Russian, Japanese, and English curses were coming out of his mouth with increased enthusiasm as he was standing up. The ten year old stood and shook of the snow that accumulated on his form and went over and kicked Matt in the ribs.

"Hahah-OW! You muthafucker! That hurt! Hehehe…" Matt clenched the side that Mello kicked but was trying, and failing, to smother the laughter that was bubbling over. Matt stood up, staggered side-to-side, and tried to follow Mello as he was marching his way back to the orphanage giving up his fruitless search for whatever he was looking for.

As Matt and Mello were walking to the orphanage, their shoes making a crunching noise as they kept marching through the hardening snow, Matt thought he heard a third pair of crunching that was fainter then theirs. He looked back to see if there was anyone behind them, but the snowstorm had redoubled its efforts of trying to diminish the boys' sight. Soon, the orphanage was just a distorted building.

Mello kept trudging forward to where the Wammy House was suppose to be, but the snow kept obscuring his vision. "Fuck…Motherfucking goddamn shit! I can't fuckin' see anything!" Mello wiped his eyes, removing the snow that had gathered on his eyelashes and blinked rapidly.

"I think someone's following us…" Matt whispered to his companion. He looked over his shoulder, just for good measure, and looked back at Mello who was scowling at the heavy snowfall.

"What?" Mello snarled. He looked over at Matt and glared at him. "What'd the fuck you say? Speak up!"

"I said that SOMEONE IS FOLLOWING US!" Matt emphasized the last part by yelling in Mello's ear.

Mello leaned away from the nine year old, rubbing his abused ear. Then he went and punched Matt in the arm. "I think I _fucking_ get it, you little shit."

Matt rolled his eyes and sarcastically said, "Oh goodie."

They continued to go on the way to the distinguishable building that they had lived in for quite a while. Matt was placed there since he was three, almost six years ago, and Mello was sent their when he was eight, so two years for him.

"_¡__Las puertas a la luz! Calor! Eu nunca deixá-lo-ei outra vez! Je t'aime!_"(1) Matt cried out, switching languages in mid-sentence. He was running into a sprint towards the all-too-familiar building.

"Hey! Wait up you prick!" And with that said, Mello ran after him.

As the oak doors came into view, the boys scrambled up the steps to go inside and away from the winter air. Just as Matt and Mello touched the elaborate, but icy doorknob, the door swung open and a tall and old figure stood in their way.

Quillsh Wammy remained in his spot and observed the freezing boys.

Mello's blond hair was a couple shades darker and it was sticking over his face and neck. His black long sleeved shirt was started to drip as the heat from the doorway blew on the un-melted snow that lingered on his shirt. His black jeans were soaked, making a loud squishing sound combined with the same sound of his shoes.

Likewise, Matt was a bit worse off then Mello. Matt's hair was now a dark brown, almost black, instead of his reddish-brown. The white stripes on his black and white shirt were translucent, a tint whiter then his slightly tanned skin. The relatively small holes on his knees widened into two gaping holes on his jeans. Under his jeans showed goosebumps. His soaked sneakers and socks emitted a louder squishing noise then Mello's.

Wammy quietly sighed and handed the boys a towel each in an attempt to dry them. There was another towel behind them, but he made no move to grab it.

As the delinquent children went inside to dry themselves off, taking off their shoes and socks, there was a quiet knock on the door. Wammy walked up to the door and opened it. Matt peered at the person from under his towel and Mello just outright stared. A boy, looking younger then the nine-year old Matt, was standing at the doorway.

The boy was decked in white. His shirt, shoes, pants; just about everything was a snowy white. Even his hair was the same color. The pre-teens were not sure if the snow was making him that pale or if he always was that colorless. The only color that popped up was his eyes. They were a dark ash grey that seemed to shine from the doorway.

"_Bonjour Monsieur Wammy_,"(2) the boy spoke in French. He walked inside with a couple of awkward steps, and passed through the doorway. There was a small pack covered in snow on the doorstep. Wammy picked it up, shook the snow off the bag and closed the door.

"_Ah, bonjour. Comment vas-tu?_"(3) Wammy asked. He placed the bag on the floor and gave the white-haired boy the towel.

"_Comme ci, comme ça. J'aime le neige._"(4) The boy rubbed the towel on his hair and wrapped it around his shoulders. "_Oú est une chasie?_"(5)

"_Si vous suivez-moi_..."(6) Wammy walked into the foyer with the boy following. Mello and Matt followed, curious about the monochrome boy. Matt was following right behind Wammy, absentmindedly shaking random body parts to try and get the moistness off his clothing. Mello frowned but did nothing, his hand slipped into his soggy pocket to extract a half-eaten, and very frozen, chocolate bar. He tagged along for the hell of it, gnawing on his delicious treat.

"Mello, Matt, this is Nia. His is from France," Wammy motioned to the boy sitting on the large soft chair. Near's legs were resting on the coffee table.

"Nee-ah?" Mello pronounced, glowering at the weird name between bites. He had one hand on his hip and the other hand was moving the chocolate in different directions, as to eat the parts that have slightly melted. He then crossed his arms and did something similar to a pout. "How'd about Near? 'Cause those French are just fuckin' crazy with those names!"

Matt shrugged, either wordlessly agreeing to Mello's point or he didn't care. Matt continued rubbing the water out of his hair and shaking like a dog would.

Newly renamed Near sat on the nearest seat, a large beige armchair and placed his legs on the edge of the coffee table close by. Mello was sputtering at Wammy, as it was what he said, 'it is ill-mannered to place one's feet on a place where people eat', and was waiting for the punishment to commence. Mello didn't like Near, as he had an air of arrogance and seemed haughty as he sat on the chair, getting it soaking wet.

Near pulled his pant legs up above his knees and bared his legs to the stares. On his legs was a pair of metal leg braces. The metal seemed to be glittering in the dim lighting. The brace was large and bulky but the legs they were encasing, on the other hand, looked like it was just skin and bones. A thin pale leg was peaking out of the gaps of the brace.

Near, not once looking up, undid the clasps and knots that supported his legs. After a couple of clicks, the braces popped open and Near bend down and moved his legs so that they dangled off the chair. Near's pant legs fell back over while the metal brace fell down to the carpet with a clang.

"I had a disease in my legs."

The boys abruptly looked up at the English words coated with a pinch of a French accent. Near adjusted the pant legs back to their original spot, seams pointed outwards, and stared questioningly at the two boys. The boys now had their answer on why he walked funny. Mello had a muted scowl and Matt's lips were rounded into an 'o'.

"_Ohh, je vois. __Blesse-t-il toujours?_"(7) Matt inquired, towel still over his hair as he took on an angelic aura. Mello looked at him in shock, as he did not know that Matt spoke French and he was now communicating with the enemy! Mello, fuming mad at the traitor, elbowed him in the gut, right where he kicked him earlier. Matt made a big show holding his side and gave a convincing whimper.

"_Jamais, il est indolore. Pas comme tu,_"(8) Near looked at Matt, then Mello, and gave himself a satisfied grin. If these were the best at the house, as Wammy said over the phone, then his competitive side was surely disappointed. But then, it was much, much easier to get to his goal. They wanted someone to be L's protégé, then he was it.

After all, how could an American with a thing for languages and an arrogant, chocolate-eating Russian stop him? He might as well count them out of the race.

Later in life, he would surely regret those words.

FIN.

* * *

Translation Notes:

It was so much easier on Word...sorry for the inconvenience. Here is what the italic phrases mean in English and the language they were spoken in.

1. Spanish: The doors to the light!; Portuguese: Heat! I will to never leave you again!; French: I love you!

2. French: Hello Mr. Wammy.

3. French: Ah, hello. How are you?

4. French: I'm okay. I like the snow.

5. French: Where is a chair?

6. French: If you follow me.

7. French: Ohh, I see. Does it always hurt?

8. French: Never, it is painless. Unlike you.


End file.
